I wasn’t sure why I got so riled. Did I really expect him to murder that actor right there in front of everyone? Still, the idea of that guy walking around, breathing, made me furious. If I weren’t a prisoner, I might have gone after him myself and wiped him off the face of the earth. Even with how amazing human blood tasted, I doubted I could stomach drinking from that monster. There was no part of him I wanted in my mouth. Not even if I was starving.
Grim scooped up his Manhattan and walked over to the edge of the balcony, looking out over the crowd with his other hand in his pocket, as if a king surveying his castle. The roar from the crowd below doubled and the people in the other VIP lounges all raised a glass to him. The power he possessed was frightening, but there was something extra scary about watching how he looked over his dominion.
Did these people sense that Death himself was watching over them? Did they secretly worship death? Is that what led them to this club? So they could lose themselves in vices and escape the humdrum, even if it led to darkness?
Or maybe I was the one scared of losing myself to darkness. It wasn’t the thirst, or Grim’s prediction, it was the being standing mere feet from me. Despite his promise to kill me, I felt tied to him—a growing sense of trust which was straight-up cuckoo clock insane. Still, it didn’t keep me from wanting to be near him, taking him at his word, and wanting to reach out to him as he stood there seeming so alone and a little sad.
I picked up the wine. Though I couldn’t say for sure, I didn’t think I’d been big on fancy wines in my previous life. I pegged myself for a cheap beer kind of gal. But for a girl who now preferred to chug hemoglobin, I found the wine to be exquisite. It coated my tongue with rich spice and mahogany, and I tasted the soil in Spain. Despite the delicious aromatics and flavor profiles, something about the red wine made me deeply uneasy. My gut clenched hard enough to force me to set the glass back down on the table.
The visceral, almost painful reaction to the wine confused me. I enjoyed the flavor, but it also repelled me. Not because I wasn’t able to enjoy other beverages, it was the red wine in particular. The paradox hurt my head, so I let it go.
I stood a few steps behind Grim, relishing the club as it pulsated with life. Part of me wanted to slip away to dance until I couldn’t think straight. But we weren’t here for funsies. I wondered if Grim had ever gone down below and lost himself to the music. I dismissed the absurd image as soon as I imagined it. He was more of a tango kind of guy; likely to favor measured, precise steps to enact out intense, fiery passion.
Grim stepped back, so he was next to me. “That woman you saw me kill…” He trailed off.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he was about to say.
“She had already died. What you witnessed was my judgment of her soul. That’s what I do.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “Most of the time, my reapers can sort the souls and send them to their rightful destinations, but some call for me to make the assessment myself.”
I was still swallowing the part about how I’d seen the woman’s soul. I believed her to be there in flesh and blood. “What did she do?” I asked, my voice low.
“She poisoned her stepdaughter, slowly, over time. She put it in the six-year-old’s morning cereal. The woman wanted the man for herself and was jealous of the child.”
I blew out a breath. “That is some Snow White shit right there.” How could people be so despicable? Did I know people like that? Was I one of them?
“Indeed. Yet the rest of her life, the woman dedicated her life to helping others, fundraising and making sure villages in Africa had clean drinking water. She impacted the lives of hundreds of people, which is why they brought her to me, to make the final judgement.”
He took a sip of his Manhattan, his eyes sliding to me. “You think I chose wrong. That I was too hard on her?” Grim paused, then added, “The father never fully recovered. When his little girl passed, a part of him died with her. He’s still limping along through life believing he lost the woman who had saved him from drowning in grief.”
There was genuine curiosity in his question, underlined by weariness. Did he worry he’d made the wrong choice?
I shrugged, but then considered it. “As a newly minted bloodsucker, as you so lovingly put it, I have wrestled with this question many times over the last couple of weeks. What is one person? I told myself if I nabbed one person and drank my fill, I’d never do it again. Killing one person wouldn’t make that much of a difference in the big picture. What is one little puny human versus how much it would mean to me?”
Despite my cooling temperature, I heated under his scrutiny. “But even when I was starving, alone in the sewers, sucking on rats, it didn’t sit right. I’m not an animal, and I am the one who decides what I will or will not do.”
“Do you really believe you can? Fight your nature?”
I shrugged. “I now know vampires exist, that Death has a face.” I said the devastatingly gorgeous part silently to myself,and that he has a conscience, so I know anything is possible.
Grim didn’t reply, just kept those liquid amber eyes fixed on me. I lifted the Manhattan out of his hands and raised it to him. “Here’s to believing I control my fate.” I chugged the remaining bit. Feeling emboldened, I asked, “Now can we talk about why you have so many women’s clothes in your penthouse?”
He raised an eyebrow, taking the empty glass from me and setting it down.
“Are you super into women’s fashion or is it just a revolving door of chicks at your place?” I tried to smile, though part of me seriously wanted to know.
“The latter.”
I tried to act like I wasn’t just kicked in the gut, but it hurt. For all that is holy, I was jealous of the endless parade of women who got to sleep with Death. If I didn’t think I was nuttier than a squirrel before, this proved it.
“As you pointed out, the place is barely lived-in. I don’t require much, if any, sleep. My people keep a close eye on the guests, including anyone who has over-imbibed, fallen in with the wrong company, or needs refuge. Timothy can set them up in the penthouse and bring them clean, comfy clothes when they are ready to leave.”
“That’s a lot of ladies’ clothes,” I said, still skeptical.
The moment he trapped me in the elevator with his body played on repeat in my mind. His tailored jacket dipped toward his waist, emphasizing his broad shoulders. I could feel the hard ridges of his abs even through our clothes. I’d been surrounded by the scent of freshly turned soil, from a greenhouse. Or a grave, I corrected myself.
And his cologne was a mix of lilies and musk. Lilies, the funereal flower. Who knew Death would smell so tantalizing? Was this a vampire fetish thing?
Grim shrugged. “I know their clothes are sent out for cleaning and they have the option to take their partywear with them or have them delivered.”
